Divine Intervention
by notantihero
Summary: It all started when Lightning and Fang find out that their tea has been spiked. But Vanille just wants everyone to be happy: like sugars and rainbows. What's so wrong with that?
1. Hooker's Green

**Divine Intervention**

Like all heart-pounding, nerve wrecking stories, it started with tea. And like all good stories, it didn't just start with tea. To be precise, it started with really good tea: imported exclusively from a treacherous, mountainous area somewhere far to the north of Eden, and sold through only the strictest regiment of a franchisee selection process, ensuring that every store an identical layout, identical smiling highly-qualified, trained employees, and of course, an identical, exclusive fragrance. And like all good tea, it was all very vague – overpriced leaves sold to gullible customers in the guise of free-trade and frock wearing royalties with bad teeth.

To be more precise: it started with two cups of tea made by tea leaves that were of the exact same type to Such and Such's infallibly overpriced brand, despite originating from the Tsubaddran Highlands and costing almost nothing but the sweat on one's brows and a few miles of arduous trekking. It was lovingly handpicked and brewed by one of Oerba Dia Vanille and presumably one of Hope Estheim.

And more precise still: a cup of said tea was in a danger of being tossed into the lake – painstakingly crafted animal skull cup and all – by an extremely annoyed pink (or pale red, if one valued having all limbs intact over the truth) haired woman.

"This is getting ridiculous," Lightning said, angling her cup towards the light. She shook her head in disgust. "I won't even bother with guessing."

"Aphrodisiac? Love poison?" said Fang without looking up from the old newspaper she pilfered from Sazh. "A traveling circus in Palumpolum. Pity we were too busy being l'Cie; Vanille's always said she wanted to see one ever since we saw the flyers. She _loves_ bears."

And what kind of love, Lightning wondered, thinking about her the pelt she wore even to sleep. But that wasn't the point.

"Look," she said, bringing the cup closer to Fang. "Green flecks."

"You Cocoonians. Phone sex chatlines? No wonder Hope still gets mistaken as a girl."

"Fang. Do I need to remind you that it is my sister that was crystallised because of you?" The sentence was said in a very even tone.

Hearing the implication behind the words (and if you continue to ignore me, I will use that as an excuse to tie you up with your own fabric and drop you down the lake), Fang paused from her newly acquired hobby of culling through various bits of any salvageable Cocoonian literature to mock the absurdity of its culture – and finally looked into the cup. "Just green?" she said after a moment or two, "you're being a bit too optimistic, Light."

"I'm not comprehending."

"It's Hooker's green."

"...excuse me?"

"A colour you get from mixing Prussian blue and gamboge."

"Right," said Lightning, who didn't know the difference between navy and beige. She wanted to know where Fang had learned the archaic terms and what they represent, but decided against it. It might be common knowledge, she thought, and she loathed to embarrass herself. Such nitpicking of the smallest of details were of no use when she wasn't a soldier anymore. But old habits die hard, that she knew as well as anyone.

"Curious, aren'tcha?"

She looked up to see Fang smirking – an action she decidedly did not like. The Pulsian was too easily amused at the expense of another's discomfort; a fact she had learned from too many sessions of idle talk. It did that to you, the vast expanse of gently rolling hills; the seemingly boundless blue sky; the absolute lack of nothing else to do but fight and run to whichever direction they thought Orphan's Cradle lay. And the next thing she knew, she was having friendly chit-chats with the likes of Fang. A less optimistic view: she was becoming the butt of Fang's jokes.

"I'm not," she said.

Fang ignored the statement. "Prussian blue is this," she lifted a section of her sari, uncrossing her legs to reveal tantalizing amount of thighs. Lightning tried not to watch as she ran a hand slowly down the length of her thigh. "Gamboge is that girly yellow Hope wears, and."

And suddenly she was leaning close to Lightning. Too close, because Lightning couldn't stare anywhere but into the other woman's eyes. She felt a calloused fingers gently trailing down her cheek. The warmth of Fang's breath against her lips. The way the woman was staring at her with dilated pupils.

Knowing that any further action might encourage Fang, she stayed in her position and said merely: "you're not going to say what you're going to say next."

Fang paused, fingers halfway down Lightning's cheek. "About my eyes..."

"Being Hooker's green."

Fang leaned back and laughed. "Well, there goes to ruining the humour; lighten up, Light."

Choosing the ignore the incredibly lame pun, Lightning threw the contents of her cup onto the ground and set it aside. "What is it?"

"A strong Oerban aphrodisiac," Fang said lightly. "Usually used to enhance an inadequate male's virility; makes him a raging beast or some sort. It was banned by the elders ever since an incident involving a man, a lot of women, and a flock of sheep."

Lightning refrained from asking, feeling that she really didn't want to know.

"Not gonna ask?" Fang smirked, rightly interpreting the scowl on Lightning's face.

"No."

"Well, your loss then. Still, it's not that bad," she said, finger tracing the rim of her cup. Then, bringing the cup closer to her lips: "quite delicious, in fact."

Lightning watched in horror as she drowned her tea in a single gulp.

"You– what. Why did you–"

"Waste of perfectly good tea," she said, licking her lips. "Now then, sunshine." She tossed the newspaper and the cup carelessly down. "Gonna find me some Vanille to play with."

And then she was off.

Lightning tried hard not to imagine the implication behind Fang's parting words. Sighing, she went to her knees and started gathering Fang's discarded mess.

* * *

><p>Vanille decided that they were oblivious to the point of being bullheaded.<p>

"You've got a potty mouth there, kid," Sazh said. "So. What did you do?"

She tapped her finger on her lip and thought. "Well, I..."

Stole their clothes when they were bathing. Sent love letters in each other's name. Used Hecatoncheir and Alexander to trap them inside a cave with a boulder. Pushed Fang on top of Lightning. Spiked their tea with Oerba's strongest concoction of love potion.

"Not much, really," she said, then went back to squinting through the binoculars.

"The way grumpy looks at you? Why don't I believe that?"

"Just your imagination, pop," she said, trailing off as she inched closer towards the edge of the cliff, going as far as she could without risking death by falling.

Batting stray leaves out of her way, she aimed her binoculars down and adjusted the gain. It was beautiful, she thought, spotting an adamantoise in the distance peacefully chewing on grass. Her beloved Gran Pulse. It would have been a scenery fit for a painting if a flan hadn't just wandered underneath a humongous raised foot. Or Hope and Snow entering the picture, taking the beast down and then immediately gutting it without further ado. Well; that's dinner, then. She offered a silent prayer of sympathy.

She readjusted her aim and zeroed in on her two favourite people: Fang and Lightning, both sitting cross legged by the lake eating breakfast – cup of tea in hand and in Fang's case, Sazh's crumpled newspaper. Vanille nearly squealed in delight, the scene being all too domestic – all too romantic.

"Hey, Vanille?"

_Yes_. The tea. Lightning was facing another direction, but she could see the way she held the cup in her hands. She was going to drink it. Now, Fang; now, Vanille urged in her mind, willing Fang to drop her obsession with mocking Cocoon for once, and get on with her love life.

"Hey, Vanille. Pulse to Vanille."

A tap on her shoulder, and suddenly the binoculars were wrenched away.

"Hey!"

"Lemme see what you're seeing," said Sazh, aiming at the same general direction. "What are you..." He whistled. "Fang and Lightning, huh?"

"What are they doing now?" Vanille said, peering into the distance with his shoulder as support.

"Nothing. Talking. Drinking the usual mandatory morning tea."

"Drinking! They're drinking?"

"What? What are you gonna use a cup of tea for but to dri- whoa, wait a minute." He lowered the binoculars, eyes narrowing. "What did you put in them?"

"Nothing!" she said a trifle too fast. "Give me it back, please?"

It was out of reach as soon as she grasped for it, and not for the first time in her life, she wished she had Fang's legs. "Sazh..."

"No you don't. Out with it or ol' Sazh's confiscating this."

"I..." Vanilled glanced away.

"You..." he echoed. Then his eyes widened in realisation. "_Damn. _You _didn't._"

She nodded, eyes fixated at the ground. "I did."

"You do realise that miss tea-sipping there? She's gonna kill you, right? What in hell spurred you to do something like that?"

"Oh, Sazh, I just want them to be happy. They've both been through so much; there's already so much pain and I... I thought that if they could find love in each other then everything will be alright again. Is it so wrong for me to think that way?"

And it was true; Fang had sacrificed so much for her, did so much in her stead to ensure Vanille's own happiness. Just once, just for once, she would like to do the same. She wasn't strong nor fast enough to protect Fang as Fang protected her, but if she was able to do it differently, to make Fang happy in a different way – to re-pay her kindness, she would. That was what she was doing now. She told Sazh as much.

"Is it so wrong?" she said again once her monologue was over, staring at Sazh – as if daring him to contradict her views.

"Well..." Sazh scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable. "I understand what you mean." He must be thinking about Dajh, Vanille thought, then felt a fresh stab of guilt at the memory. "But don't you think it's wrong, forcing them like this?"

She shook her head. "Nope," she said. "Not for the sake of love. And happiness."

"Aand sugars. And rainbows." Sazh sighed. "Look, kid. I'm not saying that I don't want our death machines to be together and happy ever after, but spiking their drink with a date rape drug is going _way_ overboard."

"No one's _raping _anyone," Vanille said, aghast.

"I'm not saying– oh look, kid." He bent his knees and let his body fall backwards – settling on a small rock with an 'omph!' "The adult world just doesn't work that way. Making two people have se– intercourse ain't gonna make them fall in love with each other just like that. Like, like–"

"Sugars and rainbows?"

"Yeah. Sugars and rainbows. But– oh hell." He threw his hands up. "Don't give me that look. Fine fine. Since you've went and done it, here." He extended the hand holding the binoculars. "Take it. Use it. Go do your... whatever you do. Just don't blame if anything goes wrong and Lightning comes storming by. Any sign of trouble, I'm out of here."

"Oh Sazh... thank you!" She moved forward to give him a hug, which he reluctantly returned. "I'm glad you're being supportive."

Satisfied with his noncommittal grumble and a muttered getting too old for this, she turned back towards the view of the plains and re-focused on the women.

"They on to each other yet?"

"Not yet... oh!"

"What?"

Lightning just poured her tea onto the ground. She couldn't see her face but she– what did she do wrong? She did everything perfectly following the book – it was grind to near dust, Hope kept his silence, and no one was supposed to notice the finely blended herbs in there. How did Light– Fang, what was she do

She watched in horror as Fang drowned her tea in a single gulp.

And then, just as sudden, Fang went off her sight, bounding away in large strides. Vanille swung her binoculars to the right and followed Fang's figure as she reached a set of massive stones, jumped onto them, and then used her lance as a leverage to leap onto a cliff– and that was when she noticed her sight was getting blurry. Which meant the gain was off. Which meant Fang was getting closer. At a tremendous speed.

"Sazh; Sazh! I think Fang is– is–"

"She's what?"

"She's coming here!"

"Oh. Shit."

Just then, the sky toppled sideways and all she could see was blue and black.

**Continued.**

* * *

><p><em>There ya go. An attempt at a happy-go-lucky romance full of humour. Or maybe no romance at all. But I hope not. This fandom needs the humour with a dose of romance, me thinks. There's a fine line between humour and crack, and I'm trying very, <em>very _hard not to cross it. Or maybe I just did. FF XIII just begs to be cracked. Hard. Well. It's okay as long as the characters remains relatively IC. Yeah. Pat self._

_R&R, people! Constructive criticism, especially, is very much so appreciated. Taking anything I can to grow as a writer. Flames however, will be promptly purged from memory._

_p.s. Love Sazh and Vanille's pseudo father-daughter relationship in-game. So adorkable._


	2. Backfire Backfire

**2**

Vanille hit the ground with a squeal, toppling from Fang's momentum as she barreled into her, immediately seizing Vanille by the shoulders and pinning her down with her weight.

"F— Fang!" Vanille squeaked as she desperately tried to push the woman off by gripping Fang on the shoulders with both hands and heaving — but it seemed to have no perceptible effect besides having both of her wrists pinned down onto the ground beside her head. "Fang. Fang Fang Fang— _aah!_"

Fang had begun prying her legs apart, nudging her knee further between them with each reluctant part. And just as fast — before Vanille's neurons had formed the connections for the (most likely useless) survival reflex of jerking her own knee up as hard as she could into Fang's groin — her right thigh was held in a deadlock as Fang squeezed it between her legs.

Besides one squirming leg, Vanille was effectively glued to the ground.

That was bad.

And Fang was panting heavily.

_That _was worse.

Somewhere, someone was shouting, but Vanille was too busy alternating between gasping and staring at Fang in abject horror to notice.

"Hiya Vanille. Delicious tea ya got there," Fang said, inappropriately polite. Inappropriately articulate when contrasted with her glazed eyes.

Vanille thought that it would somewhat be less scary if Fang wasn't so coherent. As it was, she was very close to having a heart attack, but she knew that simply fainting would probably not help her situation much.

As it also was, Fang's knee was pushing dangerously close to a certain area, and Vanille found herself desperately trying to wriggle away from the offending knee and it slid higher and higher and — "ahn!"

It was futile, of course.

"No, Fang," she said, still trying to pry her wrists away from the steel grip. "_Fang._ Please. I— Iwon't do that again letmegople—"

Everything stopped when she felt a jolt run down her spine. Fang was kissing her neck. Fang. Was. Kissing. Her. Neck.

Vanille went limp from shock. And pleasure, if her stifled moans were any indication. But she was _not _enjoying it. She was totally _not_

"Aaaaaah!"

enjoying that. _She was __**not**__ enjoying that. _It was horrible, it was insane, Fang didn't smell nice, her lips were not soft, it didn't feel pleasurable, and she most definitely _did not _want it to continue.

Fang's tongue began making circular motions.

And she, of course, moaned. And moaned.

If her hands were free, Vanille would have scrambled for the nearest rock and beat herself to death with it. It was all the tea's fault. The tea and Fang. If only it didn't feel so good she would've— _what was she thinking!_

If only her body wasn't pinned down.

If only Fang wasn't kissing her neck (and trailing dangerously south).

If only her hands were free—

They were.

Yes. _Yes! _But before Vanille could so much as breathe a sigh of relief and yelp in joy, the familiar force was back, and she felt her wrists hit the ground again. Only this time they were joined together, on top of her head, highly uncomfortable, and held only by Fang's right arm.

And that meant Fang had a hand free. A dreadful hand that could do dreadful things. A hand that could do one thing. Or several, but Vanille didn't see any happy alternative in sight. This wasn't supposed to happen. Fang was supposed to do this to Lightning, not her. They were supposed to ravish each other and fall in love and

"Kyaah!"

Fang began stroking Vanille's inner thigh. Another stroke and another stifled moan.

By that point, Vanille wanted to hit herself with a tree, if only to shut her mouth up. This had gone too far. It wasn't like the time when Fang came back drunk from her coming of age celebration; that was rainbows and giggles. And alcohol. This was... not rainbows and giggles.

And tea.

And _that_ made all the difference. The Pulsian blood in her simply refused to fall because of tea. Alcohol, maybe. But _not tea_. Especially the tea she made herself for the sole purpose of uniting two obliviously stubborn people.

Simply asking Fang to politely cease had been proven useless. Only one thing could catch Fang's attention. Unhappy as she felt, Vanille took a deep breath and said it:"Fang! Don't! I'm— I'm saving myself for_ Snow!_"

The assault immediately stopped. "_What_—"

Vanille's eyes nearly boggled out when Fang flew backwards and crashed into a tree.

That... wasn't the reaction she expected. Huh.

A few seconds of confusion lapsed before someone hauled her into a sitting position.

"You okay, Vanille?"

"_Sazh?_"

He looked as if he had just sprinted a mile: clothes disheveled and twigs sticking out of his hair. "Yeah, well, I knew that shouting won't do any good, not when she drank your date rape drug like that; so I immediately went and called Lightning. Here, give me your hand."

She did — and once on her feet immediately scrambled and hid behind Sazh. "Thanks for saving me, Sazh," she said against his back. "...and Light."

Lightning nodded in mute acknowledgment, unsheathing her gunblade. "You're welcome." Then as an afterthought: "she's heavy."

With that, she converted her weapon into a gun and trained it on Fang, ignoring Vanille's horrified gasp.

Sazh, however, was more vocal.

"Whoa whoa grum— Lightning; hold it right there. What's that for? You're not gonna just shoot her, are you? _Are you?_" And despite Sazh's apparent concern for Fang, Lightning noticed that he kept a fixed distance of several meters from Fang and Lightning. Safety precaution. Approved.

"Just in case," she said. Fang wasn't moving. "Hey, Vanille?"

"Yes?"

She glanced at the girl whose only visible body parts were her shoulder and head, the rest of it hidden behind Sazh's much bigger frame. Meat-shield. Lightning approved of that, too. There were a lot of times when she had wanted to use Fang as one.

She gestured at Fang with her gun. "How long does that last?"

"Um... a week?"

And added Vanille to the list of viable meat-shields.

In fact, she wanted to flag down a King Behemoth right then and make meat-shields out of the two Pulsian morons. If she hadn't noticed the Hooker's green flecks, things could be very, very different. And in Fang's case, much more so for introducing that ridiculous colour to her vocabulary.

Her trigger finger twitched, and Vanille must have noticed because she yelped and disappeared from view save for a hand gripping Sazh's sleeve. Lightning sighed. "I'm not going to _shoot_— "

"Light..."

She spun around at the sound, gunblade cocked and ready to go at the slightest provocation. None came. Fang was still lying there still as before — body half slumped against the tree she hit. "Fang?" she said, eyeing the figure warily. While she was no slouch in the combat department — not by a long shot — she couldn't quite see herself going hand-to-hand against Fang and winning. Or living to tell the tale, for that matter, because she had no doubt that in Fang's current condition, the only thing that mattered was the availability of a straight line towards Vanille. Lightning interrupting that line? Well, that's just bad luck, isn't it. And she would really, really loathe to raise her weapon against Fang, righteous as it would be. Until the situation could be resolved, Fang would have to remain unconscious. Or tied. "Fang?" she said again. No response. She relaxed her stance. "Clear."

A collective sigh from Sazh and Vanille.

"Light?" Vanille ventured, still behind Sazh. "What should we do with her?"

What indeed. Lightning refrained from yet another bout of exhalation. "Precaution. Sazh, is there anything we can use to tie that idiot up?"

"Tie?" He began patting the pockets of his coat. Came up with nothing. "Nothing that she won't break out of easy— wait, I think I saw a pair of cuffs in Snow's bag. Hold on, I'll go get it— " Abruptly, as if realising something, he turned to Vanille. "You okay being alone with them for a second?"

She smiled weakly at him. "Don't worry. I'll... scream for you if something happens."

"Well..." Still looking doubtful, Sazh patted her head regardless. "You do that," he said, and — after a nod from her — broke into a jog towards the direction of their camp."Scream!" he said one last time with an arm raised before disappearing out of view.

Lightning's eyebrow twitched.

To think that he didn't trust her with protecting the culprit from her own concussed idiot of a victim who had intentionally drank an aphrodisiac — ridiculous. And handcuffs? _Handcuffs?_ Crystallised or not, Serah was grounded for life. And Snow? Snow was dead. Vanille, though...

Making sure she noticed, Lightning gave her a slow, thorough scan. "Vanille?" she said very evenly, "after this is over, we'll sit down and have a long, nice chat about everything that's happened so far."

Despite the mildness of her tone, Vanille visibly blanched. She chuckled nervously and stepped backwards until she stumbled upon a tree. "It... won't help if I apologise to you now? ...will it?"

"Let me see." Lightning tapped her gunblade onto one palm, appearing as if to ponder. Then: "I don't think so." She watched as Vanille sidled closer to the tree. It seemed that the tree had replaced his role as Vanille's designated shield. An idea formed, and Lightning found herself smirking. "I can snap that tree with one blow," she said. "In fact, that's not even necessary." The _tap tap_ of her gunblade sounded ominous in the silence. "I can just shoot you right now."

If Vanille had looked simply shaken before, now she looked positively horrified. "Light, I— I— "

"And don't even think of screaming for Sazh ...unless you want to live with the guilt for your very, very short life." _Tap,_ her gunblade went. _Tap. Tap_. A slow, deliberate step with each beat. _Tap_.

And, once directly in front of Vanille, she abruptly thrust out her arm, letting the length of her forearm rest on the section of tree directly on top of Vanille's head. If there were one perfect adjective to describe her position in relative to Vanille's, it would be 'loom'. Indeed, Lightning loomed over Vanille, using the difference of their height to force the shorter girl to look up at her. Her eyes were large in fear, and Lightning could see the movement in her neck as she gulped.

Very satisfying, indeed.

"Light..." said her victim in a tiny, quivering voice. "I'm— I'm sorry so p-please..."

"Please? Too late for that, Vanille. Too late. Think of it as... divine retribution. It will be painless, I promise." With that, Lightning raised the hand that held her gunblade.

"No— !"

...and brought her free hand down from its resting place, ruffling Vanille's hair. "Kidding."

Vanille gasped in surprise. "What? But I— I thought— "

"Yes. You thought," said Lightning, not quite able to suppress a smile at the reaction she had managed to incite.

She couldn't help it — Vanille just reminded her so much of Serah. The perpetual cheer, the sunny smile, the good intentions that usually went wrong. Yes. Serah. Pre-handcuffs Serah.

Her smile faded away.

Snow_._ What she would do to him for corrupting her sister like that. _Handcuffs? _There was a brief image of her choking Snow with Hope's scarf. It looked more and more like a better idea — because _handcuffs?_ That oversized, blonde piece of cra

"Lightning?"

"...huh? Oh."

Vanille was still looking at her nervously: hands joined behind her back, feet restlessly shifting. "Why... did you?"

"Did I what?"

"...do that if you didn't really mean it?" Vanille said with the same tiny voice. She looked like she wasn't quite sure as what expression to rearrange her facial muscles into.

Lightning would suggest happiness at not nearly dying. But that's just her.

And Vanille really should stop staring at her with those huge, quivering puppy eyes; Lightning was sure she wasn't doing it intentionally (or rather, it was the default survival expression for the cute and small), but it really made delivering the lecture she planned on difficult. Still, she was going to try her best. There was a certain obligation in delivering a good moral fiber every time you played villain and nearly scared someone to death.

A quick glance at Fang. Still safe.

She exhaled, preparing herself for the lecture. Then started. "It's a lesson for not doing things without being prepared for the repercussion. And I don't arbitrarily kill people just because they happen to have failed with drugging my morning beverage."

Silence reigned.

"That's it," she said, rubbing her palms together to get rid of stray dust.

Her reply was met with a frown: Vanille's previously huge, quivering puppy eyes narrowing from confusion. "That's... _that's_ _it?_"

"Yes. That's it." Lightning was a big fan of brevity. "Or is that not enough?"

"No!" Vanille shook her head. "It's more than enough. I'm— I'm sorry; I didn't mean to..."

"Apology accepted. It's not me who was molested, after all — I think you've had enough for one day. As long as you don't repeat it, am I clear? And no more stealing clothes while we're bathing..."And her sentence was cut short when she received an unexpected hug from Vanille.

"Oh, Light," she said, voice muffled. "Thank you for forgiving me."

Lightning sighed and wordlessly returned the embrace, patting her head awkwardly. Yes. Similar to Serah, indeed. And Hope. And that gorgonopsid cub they found the other day. Clearly she had a weakness against humongous puppy eyes.

"Hey! Got the cuffs! She still— oh."

"Now that Sazh is back, let's deal with your idiot." With a another pat to Vanille's head, Lightning broke the embrace and led Vanille back to the clearing with one hand on her shoulder.

"You were— " Sazh began, but stopped as soon as he saw Lightning's raised eyebrow: a gesture of warning. He coughed. "So. We're gonna cuff her hands, right." he said, changing topics expertly as he knelt beside Fang. He twirled the handcuffs around his index finger absently. "No trees small enough to cuff her against."

Lightning scanned the area, and was forced to agree. "If only her hands were bound, do you think you can take her in the event that she regain consciousness?"

"Oh, just an semi-immobile woman like Fang? Sure!" He threw his hands up in mock enthusiasm. "What's a few broken bones and a dislocated jaw, right? Of course I can take her easy. Hell, bring on a megistotherian and a king behemoth and let 'em tag team!"

"I see. I'm glad you have the confidence."

"..._ really _getting too old for this."

"Vanille, hold her hands together. Sazh, do it."

They did, and two clicks later, the imminent danger of Fang waking up and doing bad things to Vanille (a less optimistic view: or anyone in sight) was thwarted.

They stared at Fang in silence.

Sazh broke it with a cough, addressing Lightning. "So... you said she knew already about the drug beforehand, right?"

"That is correct."

"Why did she drink it anyway?"

Now that, Lightning wanted to know. And the answer usually remained with the perpetrator. "Vanille?"

They turned their attention to Vanille.

The girl fidgeted.

The stares continued.

"Um... did she..." she said finally, hands twirling in her lap. "Did she say anything before she drank it?"

Did she? Lightning didn't think of it as relevant, but said anyway: "she said the flecks were the colour of Hooker's green."

Vanille blinked. "Hooker's— "

A strangled sound from Sazh.

"— green? I don't..." she trailed off. But then her eyes brightened as realisation hit her. "Oh. _Oh._ I think she was mistaken."

Lightning frowned. "Mistaken?"

"Hooker's..."

"Not now, Sazh," she cautioned. Then with a raised eyebrow at Vanille: "explain."

There was a tuneless hum as Vanille arranged her answer, a finger twirling a pigtail. "We-ll," she said after a while, "she mistook it for a different concoction, I think." When no comment came, she continued. "The other one is indeed made of herbs the colour of Hooker's green, but what I put in that tea was verdant... monkey forest green! Yep; that's it. They're quite similar, if you don't know much about colours, or aren't careful."

Lightning's frown deepened. Children in Oerba were either very artistic, or millions of public tax had been wasted in introducing useless classes about colours and other arcane knowledge. She did not approve of tax squandering, like the situation in Bodhum where the bureaucracy administered improbably high taxes and spent it on building new sports stadiums, attracting tourists and legalising under-aged girls.

Or Vanille was just making things up. "And what's the difference?"

"Heaps!" Vanille said (and Lightning narrowed her eyes at the sudden upbeat mood), clapping her hands together. "The potion Fang mistook it for — by the way, it's called," and she rapidly mumbled something intelligible.

"What?"

She repeated.

"_Sxbtxlw—_" Lightning said a third of it then gave up. It sounded made up, but she'd give Vanille the benefit of the doubt for now— who knew with five hundred year old Pulsians. "And then?"

"That only works on males, but much, much more potent. Those can last _weeks _before wearing off. This one," Vanille gestured at Fang with a sweep of her hand, "is milder, but works on both genders. It's also much more rare and difficult to make, so perhaps Fang thought..."

Oerbans must have led really repressed lives if they resorted to drugs as means of seduction. Then she connected the dots. "What you're saying is, she drank it because she thought it was that... other drug that only works for males."

"Uh-huh."

"When in fact, it was the other one?"

"Yep."

"So if I'm guessing this correctly _— _based on Vanille's explanation and Fang's personality, the conclusion would be: her plan to backfire your plan backfired," said Lightning, nonchalantly jumping straight from point A to point Z. When Vanille and Sazh didn't look like they had been hit by the brick of epiphany, she took a long, deep breath and let it out. She'd been doing that a lot, this morning. A Morning of Sighs. "She drank it as a joke," she said with as patient and even tone as she could manage, "then ran off finding you to pull a prank. Instead by the time she reached you the real drug had begun taking effect, leading to my conclusion. Is that correct?"

"I... think so?"

"...morons. All of you."

Vanille eyes widened.

Seeing her expression, Lightning again sighed and massaged her temple. "In this case, I think the word is justified. So what's the cure?"

"Well..."

Vanille was inching away, but Lightning just didn't have enough energy to care nor wonder why. What she really wanted to do now was to get this over with, borrow Hope's scarf, find Snow, and then get Vanille to make her a new cup of tea (under supervision). "...what is it?"

"...a kiss from her most beloved?"

That doesn't make sense but whatever, her mind went. "Go on, then."

"Uh— Light? _Most _beloved."

She nodded. "Yes. That would be you."

"I mean." And Vanille inched away further. "Her most beloved in a sense of... romantic interest."

"And that's you."

"No, no, no," Vanille said, sounding exasperated. "She thinks of me as her sister; our relationship isn't like that. Not at all."

And what sister makes sexual moans that can be heard a mile away, Lightning thought.

"What she needs is a kiss from the person she's most _romantically_ in love with."

"A kiss," Lightning said.

Vanille nodded, and the gap between them widened further. "A kiss."

Really. Why wasn't she surprised at all.

**Continued.**

* * *

><p><em>I'm really sorry for the abrupt ending; the scene was going close to 5k words, and to get proper closure for a chapter it would be closer to 6k, which I think will be too long and unbalanced in lieu of other chapters, so I was forced to choose a moment (and really, there wasn't any) to end the chapter prematurely if I don't want to start rushing things because of petty things like word count.<em>

_But I had much, much fun writing villain!Light. She's such a sweetie underneath, makes me go awwww. And yep. She's got issues about her sister. Also, hope to make up for the lack of funnies next chapter._


	3. Backfire Backfire II

**3 **

"Really," Lightning said.

"Yep. Really," Vanille chirped.

And she caught the girl by her necklaces before she could inch yet another inch away. Vanille gasped and squirmed, but her grip remained firm.

She knew what was coming next. It was just too much to ask to have morning tea peacefully, go around fighting behemoths, drink evening tea, think fond thoughts of (pre-handcuffs/Snow/puberty) Serah, then retire peacefully into her make-shift bed without going on to star in a drama reminiscent of bad pornographic movies? Of course it was too much to ask. She decided that she did not want to hear whatever Vanille was going to say next. "I _do not_—"

"And that's our leader right here, right?" said Sazh, cutting in without preamble.

She glared at staying silent for so long, he just had to speak up now,when the most ridiculous of all topics came up?

He shrugged, impervious to her glare. "Ain't it the truth?"

"Sazh," she said, killer grip tightening around Vanille's necklaces, "if you are in any way involved—"

"Light?"

"—with concocting this ridiculous plan, I suggest—"

"L— Light... I— I can't—"

"—that you come forward and..." Why was he looking at her like that? Was there— she rubbed the area near her chin. "...is there something on my face?"

"No but Vanille—"

"Vanille what? Speak clearly. We're not—"

A frantic tapping on her shoulder and something that sounded like a badly strangled pigeon. Impatient with all the interruption, Lightning snapped her head towards the sound and was about to say something along the lines of be quiet or else, when she saw a very red, very breathless Vanille and realised that her killer grip might be living up to its name very soon.

"Can't... can't. Breathe..."

Wincing, Lightning released her hold and Vanille landed on her elbows with a thud.

They waited mutely — Sazh rubbing her back and Lightning looking away — as she hacked and coughed, a hand supporting herself off the ground and the other frantically massaging her throat through the ridiculous amount of beaded necklaces she wore.

A Morning of Sighs. Lightning sighed.

As if Vanille hadn't had enough in a day: Being subjected to Fang's molestations and Lightning's stint at being a criminal. But then the slight sympathy evaporated as she recalled Vanille's 'cure' to her own rape drug. It probably hadn't been enough, indeed. But injuring civilian children, no matter how not innocent ranked very low in her approval system. It wasn't as if the looks Sazh were shooting at her helped any.

"...great. I'm the villain now, aren't I?" she said, joining in Vanille's back rubbing out of wayward guilt.

"That you are," Sazh said. And quickly amended the phrase when he saw Lightning's scowl. "Not saying that I had anything to do with the kid's plan, of course. But choking kids isn't nice, you know."

"_I know._" And that was that.

Save for Vanille's noisy breathing, a very pregnant silence reigned. It was all very awkward — she ended up rubbing bare skin half of the time due to Vanille's lack of clothes. And decided to very expertly ignore that fact — it wasn't as if her mind had rebelled and there was a brief second when she wondered if Fang would feel as soft and warm. She blamed the negativity on Vanille's highly inappropriate cure.

"Done?" Lightning said after Vanille looked healthy again. Then, feeling that a single word wouldn't show an appropriate level of concern, she rephrased. "Are you all right now?"

Still massaging her throat, Vanille nodded. "Y— yeah. Thanks for the back rub. Sazh, Light."

"No problem, kid. It's Lightning's killer grip, after all. Even Snow wouldn't survive it if she was serious," said Sazh, giving her one last pat on the shoulder before standing up and walking away to sit a safe distance away from Fang, Vanille joining him after another moment of recuperating.

Lightning glanced at him. "Sazh, we still need to have that talk—"

"He's got nothing to do with this!" Vanille cut in, and Lightning noticed that she had unconsciously positioned herself in front of Sazh, as if trying to defend him. How sweet: Defending each other like that. It was a gesture that would have brought a smile to Lightning's face, if she didn't feel like throwing both of them (along with Fang for good measure, and Snow for corrupting her Serah) off the edge of Gran Pulse and into another planet entirely.

Resisting the impulse, she said instead: "Really."

An empathic nod. "Yep. Really."

Lightning accepted that. It was improbable that Sazh would involve himself in one of Vanille's match-making plans, if his age were to be taken into account. "Okay," she said, and Sazh visibly relaxed. "So."

"So."

"Back to your moron. You were telling me that I am her... most beloved." The last two words didn't come easy.

"Uh-huh. And?"

"I'm not buying it."

"But there's not question about it. You're definitely Fang's most beloved person."

Eyes narrowing, she wondered how Vanille could change moods from being scared to downtrodden to scared to cheerful in such short notice. Or to have the gall in saying 'Lightning', 'kiss' and 'Fang' in one sentence. She was probably more resilient than an adamantoise, and Lightning wasn't sure if it was a desirable trait or something that needed immediate extermination.

"So, Light?" Vanille. "Are you going to..."

"I refuse."

"But—"

"How do you even know it's me?" Lightning said — tone fraying around the edge. "It could be _you. _Or Sazh—"

"Hey!"

"—or even Hope." Snow's name didn't even enter the realm of possibility. "In fact, why don't we just call him right now and take turns curing her?"

"Now there Lightning. Taking advantage of an unconscious person is criminal — even if it's someone like her," Sazh said.

Vanille nodded. "Yep. To sully her body like that just because you're too stubborn to admit your own feelings."

"Criminal? Sully?" She scoffed. "Rich, coming from two l'Cies — one of them the sole reason we're having this absurd discussion in the first place."

"Don't sweat the details. Listen to old man Sazh." Vanille pointed a finger at him. "He's the voice of reason."

"Now wait just a minute there Vanille," he said, holding out both of his hands; palms facing away from his body. "Let's not make make mincemeat out me, okay? Lightning?"

"_What?_"

"I think you should do it."

She looked at him like he had grown two more chocobo chicks. "Sazh..."

"Well, can't just leave Fang like that for another week, right?" He shrugged. "Who knows, we might end up Cie'th by then. Or worse: Begging passers-by to tear Cocoon down from its orbit."

"And people under the influence of the potion get really wild, too," Vanille needlessly chimed in, back to her usual upbeat self. "Besides, I don't think there's a tree strong enough to withstand Fang's blows..."

"What?" Lightning felt cornered, outnumbered and being taken advantage of. It was probably what those monsters felt when they had a pre-emptive strike. Not a good feeling. "But this doesn't make sense! If I didn't find out you spiked our tea, and we... we..." A pause and an image purge. "Wouldn't she be immediately cured, then?"

"Nope." Vanille shook her head. "It doesn't work if both of you are affected."

"So what you mean is. If we drank that, we'd spend the next week going around doing— doing _that_ like rabid dogs?"

"...yes?"

Lightning watched as Vanille batted her eyelashes and felt the immediate need to introduce her forehead to her palm. One of these days, she was going to sit everyone on a nice, soft couch and have a long, not-so-nice chat about life. With her gunblade.

"...we should just leave both of you alone for a week. That should solve the problem."

Vanille's mouth hung open, a few seconds lapsing before she could stammer out a "what? But— but Light—"

And of course, Sazh the Surrogate Father just had to come to her defense. "Hold it right there, grumpy. You can't just do that, I mean she—"

"Just," said Lightning through gritted teeth. "Kidding."

Sazh blinked. Then regained his composure and chuckled weakly. "...oh. Of course I knew that! I knew..." He changed courses, patting Vanille on the shoulder. "Isn't she such a joker, Vanille? Great joke. Yeah. Great joke!"

"Uh— yep!" Vanille said with much the same false enthusiasm, "Light is... really, um, funny?"

"Interesting." And Lightning purposefully drawled the word. "I do?"

They blanched. But Sazh, ever the courageous one, ventured forth. "Sure you do!" He elbowed Vanille, who had been tugging frantically at his coat. "Right?"

"Um..."

"Oh, I see," Lightning said, testing the heft of her gunblade. "I would have thought otherwise, being grumpy and all. But since you insist, want to hear another joke? I have _so _much better ones in my repertoire." _Click_. The gunblade converted into a saber. _Click_. A gun.

She watched them as they watched the play of her weapon, practically hearing the ellipses of their silence.

"You know what," Sazh said, abruptly sitting up. "Bet Snow and Hope's done hunting those damn turtles. Better get back and help them prepare lunch. Deboning, filleting — just leave it to ol' Sazh."

Vanille looked up at him, eyes wide. "But. Sazh..."

"Don't you worry kid, I'll prepare Fang's portion just in case. I'll see you three at lunch, all right?" In contrary to his leisurely words, he was up and running in no time flat. Lightning could hear a muffled 'scream, Vanille!' from the distance.

Who knew being villain could feel so good. She was finally living up to the popular misconception of a Pulse l'Cie. Better still, there was no obligation in delivering another lecture. Well. That was that, and now back to the matter at hand.

"Hey."

Vanille looked away from the direction of Sazh's escape and gazed levelly at Lightning, folding her hands primly onto her lap. Probably resigned at whatever was coming next. "Yes, Light?"

"That," Lightning said, gesturing at Fang with a nod. "There is really no other way?"

"Don't you think I'd tell you if there is?"

"No."

"Oh Liiight..."

"A kiss doesn't make sense, Vanille." And Lightning was up and pacing — Vanille watching her placidly from her sitting position. "A _kiss_ cannot cure anyone. It defies logic. It—" Her rant was cut short, mind refocusing on the movement in her peripheral vision. "Did she..."

"Yep." With the curt reply, Vanille moved forward to kneel besides Fang, a hand holding hers. She tilted her head closer towards the woman, then brushed stray hair away from Fang's temple. "Fang," she said, placing a hand on Fang's shoulder and shaking her lightly. "Fang?"

A moment passed. Then stirring, Fang angled sideways, head falling to rest on Vanille's shoulder. The younger girl immediately shifted to allow for a more comfortable position, sitting cross legged with an arm hugging Fang's shoulder. Even if they were the source of her constant misery, Lightning admitted that it was certainly an adorable scene. Reminded her of the times she spent with Serah, sitting like that on the beach. Then Serah just had to meet Snow and suddenly it was handcuffs and discreet (or so they thought, but she _knew_) romps on Lightning's couch. Yes. Hope's scarf. She added that to a mental checklist.

Still — even though Lightning wouldn't admit it out loud if it killed her — the sisterly affection unfolding in front of her was... relaxing, for a lack of better adjective. It would have morphed into sickeningly cute if Fang would just keep her mouth shut.

"...co...bo..."

Lightning looked at Vanille. "What did she say?"

Cocking her head to one side, Vanille paused before answering. "Chocobo, I think?"

A scoff and crossed arms. "Pointless sleep talk."

"Wait— I think there's more."

"...love..."

They waited.

"...light."

And stared at each other.

Vanille broke the silence with an enthusiastic clap — awkwardly done considering her position. "See? _See? _She _loves_ you." It came out in a near squeal.

Give it to a match-making obsessed Pulsian to see incriminating signs in everything. Even tried divination on the floating tea leaves in Lightning's breakfast cup before. Pointless. "She said chocobos love light. Nothing else."

"Nope," said Vanille, "she said love Light. And that makes all the difference."

"Oh? And where does the chocobo come in?"

"Just ignore that," Vanille said, giving her a sunny smile. "That's irrelevant."

Very relevant to me, Lightning wanted to say. Decided not to; there was just no arguing with that much dose of annoying cheerfulness. Besides, Fang was close to gaining consciousness, if she were to judge from the mumblings and restless twitches. "We don't have much time, do we?"

"'fraid not."

With yet another sigh, Lightning walked closer before kneeling on one knee facing Vanille, looking at the unconscious Pulsian warily. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will." And Vanille brushed another strand of hair gingerly away. "Trust me."

She almost snorted at the absurdity of the statement. "Trust you?" she said. "If I trusted you, _this _could be me."

"Mm. You're right." Then, "why so stubborn, Light?"

She stared at Vanille levelly. "I am not," she said, "stubborn."

"I think you are," said Vanille, returning her stare just as levelly. "It's just a kiss. It can't be that hard, right? Or are you saying..."

"What?"

"That you've never kissed before?"

_What?_

"Of course I have," Lightning snapped, having imagined Vanille's tone as condescending. It was true, too. Technically. It's not as if you have to remember doing it, right? Because she really had. A lot of times. It was just that each memory was accompanied by rotating ceilings, upturned furniture and a dizzying array of technicolour lights. And a feeling of being stabbed in the forehead the morning after. "I'm not inexperienced," she added. For good measure.

"Okay," Vanille said mildly. "Then you'd do it, right? It's just a kiss, after all. Surely nothing too difficult for a powerful person like you?"

And Lightning wondered if she had read Psychology 101, because she had just challenged her dignity and stroked her ego at the same time. As much as Lightning loathed to admit it, it was working. Besides, it was either that, or spending the next seven days repeatedly knocking Fang unconscious against a tree. She was sure it was an ordeal that could not be survived with both of them having all their limbs intact.

A sigh. How many times, already? She should start counting.

"I'll do it," she said, resolve steeling. "Prop her back against the tree. And look away."

Vanille did, and both of them positioned themselves on each of Fang's sides. Satisfied with the arrangement, Lightning took a long, deep breath. Get it over with quickly. One, she counted. Two.

...three.

Then darted in like her namesake, placing her lips at the utmost corner of Fang's mouth, held it there for the briefest amount of time and darted out again. All in all, it probably took less than a second: A fact she was a proud of.

"Done," she said, wiping her mouth against her gloves.

"But..." Vanille said. She alternated between looking at Fang and Lightning. "That was too fast. I haven't even finished turning away—"

"A kiss is a kiss."

A pout. "A kiss that brief is not a kiss: It's an accident."

"You didn't specify how long. Take it, or leave it."

Vanille opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it and sighed instead.

A role reversal for once, Lightning thought. That was a change. Glad someone else was just as miserable as her.

She then waited for Fang's change. And waited. She didn't know what she expected — a spotlight, a sound of chiming bells, Fang waking up and giving Lightning her usual lazy grin — but she had certainly hoped for anything besides nothing. Because precisely nothing happened.

"Vanille," she said softly. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Huh?" Vanille looked lost for a moment, but then in a gush: "no, no I swear it's the truth. Once we had to draw a relationship chart because the man was still doing it with trees even after kissing all the women in the village so then they remembered that he'd been spending a lot of time in the pen and we had to take out the farmer's sheep one by one and—" she abruptly jabbed her index finger skyward. "Oh look! A flying flan!"

A flying— Lightning had never seen a flying flan. How could a living mass of jelly fly? Ridiculous. But she scanned the sky anyway, searching for the elusive, tell-tale blob. Just in case. But there was nothing besides branches and the potentially blinding sun. "I don't see anything."

"I think you should do it again."

"Elaborate," Lightning said, still looking for a levitating jelly.

"The kiss."

This time Vanille had her full attention. "Don't play games with me, Vanille."

"I'm not," said Vanille as she re-arranged Fang's sari into a more modest state. "You have to admit that that there wasn't really a kiss, Light." Lightning couldn't anything to that. It was true. "I'm sure it would've worked if it was a proper one."

"...too much to ask for a single break, is it."

"I'm sorry," Vanille said, sounding positively not sorry.

A deep breath and a deliberate exhalation. It was the beginning of depression, if her seeping will to live and object was any indication. "Turn," she said, waiting until Vanille had safely repositioned herself to face the cliff before deliberately patting her pockets; opening and closing her pouches; watching the play of light on her gunblade; examining the frayed stitching on her gloves; smoothing her shirt; tucking the

"She's not going to go away even if you start doing laundry here, Light."

She glanced at Vanille. Saw her still squatting a distance away, back silhouetted against the high rise of the sun. Being lectured by a girl Serah's age. Forced to kiss a self-deserving idiot (even if it was ultimately for the good of the party). Lovely morning to just get everything over with. Another check at Vanille — clear. Whether Vanille was privy to the scene or not didn't matter — it was the irrational drive to preserve what little dignity she had left.

"Fang?" Another check and another clear.

She had to do this: It was useless dragging on. Either she was or she wasn't — and there was no accounting to what damage Fang could do with her inappropriate strength. There was Vanille's (questionable) dignity to account for, the group's well-being — and even if Fang's intelligence had recently changed categories to 'malfunctioning', Lightning admitted that she was... attractive, to put it mildly. She could see her long, black lashes; the delicate curve of her cheeks; the slope of her shoulders. Her collarbones, and down, down...

It was normal to find another person attractive, Lightning decided. Even Serah's attraction to Snow she understood, when the urge to punch him didn't overwhelm. An appreciation for aesthetics; nothing more.

"You still haven't—"

"Now."

And leaned in to place her lips against Fang's. There was a happy squeal from Vanille, but she ignored it — what mattered was, well, the act. She wasn't sure what to do. Three seconds and counting, how long should she— feel like a creep? Didn't she spend time going around arresting men of dubious quality for doing exactly this? Doing things to a drugged, unconscious woman like Fang. Eight seconds. If kissing was only this — an inaction of awkwardly holding two pairs of lips together — then she could confidently say that sober, it was overra

A jangle of metal and pair of hands on her cheeks.

"Wha—"

And just as suddenly, she found herself being pulled forward, a hand shooting forward to support her weight against the tree, awkwardly leaning on Fang as...

the kissing intensified?

Oh, and it involved tongue now, apparently — Fang greedily trying to pry her mouth open and Lightning resisting, clamping it shut against the invasion. The resistance lasted all of a second before Fang succeeded, and there was a tingle down her spine when the Pulsian began intertwining their tongues together, alternating between sucking and flicking, exploring Lightning as the movement intensified, pulling Lightning harder against her and Lightning felt

THIS IS NOT HAPPENING, her mind went.

Oh yes it is, her body happily answered.

Traitor.

As if cheered on by that, it responded by opening her mouth wider... and responding to Fang's administrations with equal ferocity. Like acrobatics, Lightning thought: Detached at the power struggle she wasn't winning. A perverted acrobatics with tongues as its starring players. An act that should rightfully not feel as good as this. At least there were no upturned furniture — that was a plus, right?

No.

And the sounds they were making. The _sounds._ Enough was enough. She tried to pull away, using both hands as leverage against the tree. Hefted and heaved, all while Fang was having fun with her mouth. It was futile, of course. Their faces still remained glued together. Damned absurd strength.

But Lightning wasn't going to deny it: It didn't feel bad, and there was certainly a jolt in her stomach on as soon as her lips touched Fang's. But that she attributed to dire flan Snow had made into a pudding the night before. It was probably poisonous and slow acting. It was also probably affecting her internal organs, judging by how fast her heart was beating.

It was just the pudding.

The pudding and the fact that Fang was still unconscious. Perhaps Lightning had acquired a strange new fetish — because under no rational logic should her stomach do a cartwheel like that. Incoherent, her mind was. Fetish? Lightning wondered what would happen if she was conscious would she— start making circular motions against the tip of Lightning's tongue like that. Or— Lightning hoped she would stay unconscious. Forever. Because a stifled moan had just escaped her (conniving, betraying, ungrateful) traitorous lips. It was a weak moan. Certainly not audible. She hoped Vanille didn't hear it. Was she still facing the other way? Vanille, Snow and Fang were all dead. And so was Hope if he had any hand in this train wreck. Starting to feel really— Fang, stay unconscious. Let me go. Don't let no let me go. Was it Lightning's name Fang had just said? Stop it with your, stay concussed, Fang, stay _concussed._

She didn't, of course.

Broken contact, wide open green eyes and a smirk. "Enjoying it, sunshine?"

Lightning clocked her on the forehead with the butt of her gunblade. Reflex: Preserving One's Dignity.

"If she remembers this," she said against the background noise of Vanille's gasp, "I won't be adverse to adding a third concussion."

* * *

><p>"And then they lived happily ever after," Vanille said with a clap, "with seven children and a white house in the middle of the plains."<p>

"...no they don't."

"Really, you should be more optimistic, Hope."

Hope sighed and shook his head, feeding more dead branches into the fire. "I just don't believe Light would actually do it." A pause. "Willingly, anyway."

Vanille smiled. "I'm an effortless liar."

"Is that something you should be proud of?"

"Of course not," she said, "but since I can't change that fact about myself, I might as well use it for good, right?"

"Hmm." Another branch to the fire. With a satisfied nod, he took the skewers with raw meat and handed a few to Vanille, then held a pair against the fire. "So," he said, "how did you do it, exactly?"

"I told her that the cure was a kiss."

Hope looked at her. "That doesn't make sense."

"You're right," she said. "It doesn't."

"Then—"

"I lied."

"...oh."

"There's actually a cure." She pulled a blade of grass from the ground near her foot. "This."

"But— that's _everywhere_."

"Yep. But she doesn't know that." A hand twirling a strand of hair, she turned turned her skewers onto the uncooked side before continuing. "I thought I was so in trouble, you know, because she never looked away from Fang even once, so I had to distract her by saying that there's a flying flan, then gave the cure to Fang while she was looking away."

Hope's mouth hung open. "_What,_" he said, eyes wide. "And she believed that?"

"It's Light," she said, as if that explained everything.

"I don't. I don't understand."

"We-ll. She might not think so, but she actually sees the good in everything. She has that in common with Fang, out of many things." And when Hope didn't reply, she said again in a more upbeat tone: "And that's how they had their first, looong kiss."

Silence. Then: "I don't know why you're still alive."

"Me neither Hope, me neither."

"...so, are you going to give up?"

"_Never_."

Hope sighed and continued cooking their dinner.

"Oh, and did you know that Light actually moaned?"

The skewers he held fell into the fire.

**Continued.**

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the long update. I don't... have internet. And being back in the land of shiny Pulsian accent, it's ridiculously easy to imagine Vanille's voicing, but I fear I'm losing Lightning's. And Hope, of course. Never paid attention to him in-game. Please do comment if they start going into OOC-realm. Thank you for everyone who've reviewed, and keep 'em coming. They keep me motivated :) (in searching for unsecured wi-fi points)<em>


	4. Questing for the Truth I

**4**

Fang woke up recollecting nothing.

Well, something, of course. She still remembered everything that led to today; it wasn't as if she had been robbed of her entire memory. Still. She could not, for the love of the Creator's bloody undergarments, remember anything before this morning. Breakfast, precisely; with Lightning, Sazh's outdated newspaper and a cup of tea.

And unless a certain meddlesome fal'Cie is involved, Fang had _never _lost track of so many hours in one chunk. Not even when she had finished half of Oerba's ale supply on a bet. She still didn't know how exactly had she woken up in the same bed with one of the elders, but it wasn't as if everything just went blank and on again. There were flashes. Very unpleasant flashes, but all the same: memories.

She mentally probed her mind. Found none but very dark, very cavernous recesses.

"I don't remember anything," she said, staring up at Lightning's nose. It was clean.

"I see."

She reached up to play with strands of pink hair, but heard a disgruntled 'tsk' and felt her hand being batted away.

"You see?" There was a leisurely sequence of movements as she wiggled and finally settled for a more comfortable position. "And you've got nothing to with it, I bet."

The slightest pause. "Yes."

And a sound of ripping fabric.

"Now, why don't I quite believe that?"

More ferocious ripping and a bitter medicinal smell. "Then I request you to immediately vacate my lap."

Fang chuckled. Even from her current position – head resting on Lightning's lap – she could see the scowl forming on the soldier's brow. "Cold. Getting the couch for asking the right question? You'd make for a terrible wife, sunshine."

The scowl deepened. Most grown men would find it a sign to immediately seek the nearest l'Cie-proof shelter and hope they haven't offended the Creator overly much. But instead of feeling the aforementioned logical dread, Fang found it terribly, terribly cute – even upside down like this. Especially upside down like this. Her survival instincts never quite worked when it came to Lightning.

"Stop making non-existent allusions to our relationship."

"Allusions," she drawled, "like what?"

"Exactly like our relationship being more than it is," Lightning said, and Fang could hear the grind of her teeth.

"More than it is?" Fang said, smirking. "How else can you explain me waking up on your lap then?" Yep. her survival instincts were definitely faulty.

"That's easy_,_" said Lightning. Then, before Fang could throw a quip, Lightning pressed something cool against her forehead – eliciting a loud 'ow!' and a reflexive jolt. And then very evenly: "it's because of this."

"Because of— damnit, Light!"

She started groping around on the ground with the hand that was not pinned between Lightning and her body with the intention to find a leverage and hoist herself up to bolt to the nearest water source and wash the infernal thing away. It didn't take much, however, for Lightning to thwart her effort with a palm to her collar bone and a none-too-gentle push back down. Or a rough shove, Fang should say. Between the shove and the badly stinging ointment, she began to wonder if someone pissed in Lightning's morning tea or something – what's with her being obsessed with tea drinking to the point of being anal retentive.

Or maybe it was just the time of the month.

"You on your pe— _ow_." She winced again as Lightning began dabbing the ointment on her wound in a series of stilted, definitely not gentle repetitive motions. "Yep. Silence. Gotcha."

And then found her view of the night sky unobstructed, Lightning having withdrawn her hands. The stinging immediately went away, replaced only by a dull, cool sensation.

"Power play, eh. I must say though, Light, I don't really do the good girl act too well – do I need to call you mistress Farron?"

"_Fang._"

"Yeah?"

And _nice:_ Lightning had actually growled her name. Who knew pressing people's buttons could be so fun. Almost as fun as Snow—

Snow?

Fang frowned. There was something about him... and the urge to do awful things with her spear.

Ah, well; probably nothing, she thought, waving the gory fantasy away. Or tried to, because the image Snow at the end of her spear stuck like wonderful superglue.

"Say, Light?" No acknowledgment came, she continued anyway. "Snow got something to do with my current condition here?"

Silence.

She could tell what Lightning was thinking, but with her position it was quite impossible to judge exactly what. She would've sat up and stared at Lightning in the eye, but the lap was too damned snug to even think of vacating it – and besides, how many people had had the chance to lie on the Sergeant Farron's lap and lived to tell the tale? Exactly one, she'd wager: quite sure on her chances of living through the night and telling the tale herself.

Which begs the question: why was Fang on Lightning's lap and not, say, left to rot in a crevice somewhere or attended to by Vanille? Because normally there was no doubt that Lightning would've done exactly that: left her in a crevice with or without Vanille. Because a leaking forehead or amputated arms? Who the hell cares?

Certainly not Lightning.

For someone with such a comfortable lap, she sure was acting suspicious.

The answer was slow in coming. "He..." A pause. "I believe he's innocent in this matter."

And it seemed like Lightning was fighting an inner demon and had only barely won, judging by the hesitance and the not quite imaginary emphasis on 'this matter'.

"And that's not the whole truth, is it?"

"I'm hiding nothing."

Fang hummed. "Who said you were hiding anything? Because I think that's the sign of a terrible liar, Light. Maybe you should—"

Lightning abruptly rolled her over and stood up, and Fang found her cheek sharing an intimate moment with the ground.

Rubbing her cheekbone, she groaned and propped herself up slowly. "So much for a romantic stargaze," she muttered, then glanced around. Besides sparse trees and what sounded like an infestation of obnoxiously loud bugs, she found herself utterly alone.

Well. Okay.

Still: pressing. Lightning's. Buttons.

Fun.

Rolling over – back pressed firmly onto the ground, she spread her arms wide and stared at the sky. It was beautiful and all, and she felt like she should appreciate it – but then again, it's Gran Pulse. It's always beautiful.

Just like how Lightning is always too uptight.

And just like how there's always a nagging feeling of maybe she'd gone too far or maybe she'd pressed a dozen too many buttons or maybe she should stop feeling guilty for enjoying the rightful pleasure of teasing the grumpy ex-sergeant.

(Or maybe Vanille should also stop by with one of her herbal tea and relieve Fang's migraine – where _was _the ever-present redhead, anyway?)

It was quite rare for Lightning to storm away without attempting to land her fist on Fang's face first, which usually spelled serious anger management issues. Well, more than usual.

But then again, it's Lightning. Most of everything annoy her. The men (and a boy) and their habit of drying their undergarments by hanging them over the campsite, for example. Her hair being factually described as pink, strawberry, or anything even remotely cutesy. Being called pinkette. Being called sunshine. Being teased about her pale, basement-dwelling skin. Being told innuendos of riding Odin (and occasionally Bahamut).

And pretty much everything not involving Serah or Hope or occasionally Vanille she doesn't mess up Lightning's tea.

But the good thing about Lightning? She _always_ comes back. Fickle loyalty didn't earn her the title of unofficial leadership over their ragtag bunch of l'Cies, after all.

"Welcome back, sunshine," Fang said to the sky when she heard a rustle and the dull thuds of footsteps followed by a smell of burnt meat. "Always knew you'd come back."

"Up."

She'd spent enough time gallivanting with Lightning to know that 'up' meant 'sit up and shut up or else'. With her interpretation skills of Lightning's monosyllabic habit also came the knowledge of when to obey and not meet the ground with her face for the second time tonight.

So she sat up and shut up.

"Tilt it up," Lightning said, referring to her head. Then manually did so anyway, cupping Fang's chin and forcing it angle upwards before resuming more emotional bandage tearing.

It would have been romantic, Fang decided, if little miss sunshine there didn't look downright murderous. Feeling wizened, she kept her mouth obediently closed.

"So," said Fang – attempting a more light-hearted topic when the sound of tearing became more ferocious and the absence of her spear slightly more alarming, "did a pack of king behemoths decide to make me their personal doormat?"

Silence.

At this point Light was holding Fang's bangs up with one hand and liberally pasting a cool, foul smelling something onto her forehead. Only strands of pink hair met Fang's attempt to gauge Lightning's facial expression – an attempt that became futile when a strip of bandage rendered her vision temporarily white. Then colour returned, and Lightning's face simply screamed 'jackpot!'

A jackpot that came in the form of very controlled, very practised facial expression that was trying its very best to be emotionless. The guilty often overcompensates – and she knew that it was just one form of Lightning's manifestation of guilt. The other being blind rage followed by a punch to her future brother-in-law's face.

Lightning took her time jerking Fang's head left and right as she tied the ends of the bandage and fiddled with the knot to ensure that it was secure. Though quite sure that bandage applying usually did not involve yanking the patient's head like a rotor blade, Fang really quite enjoyed the atmosphere. Not only had she lived to tell the tale of lying on Farron's lap, it would seem that she would also live to tell the tale of being _personally_ treated by the pink whirlwind of death in such an intimate proximity.

There was a certain domesticity about the scene. If marriage entailed the routine returning nightly all bloody, amnesiac and in need of patching up. Probably not.

Although Lightning and her suspicious attitude had just enforced the marriage analogy, because she was acting exactly like how a man caught cheating would. She would make a terrible spouse.

Because all terrible spouses Fang had had the sadistic pleasure to observe always seemed to have this habit of fiddling with things around them when confronted with the truth. And judging by the amount of time Lightning was spending scowling at her pouch and rummaging through it, that is exactly what she will be in the future.

Thus Fang had surmised two things: that Lightning and all terrible spouses are atrocious liars, and that her pouch was probably a portal to another dimension. Fidgeting or no, there was a limit to how long one could shift through the items in a pouch the size of Hope's girly fist.

"Right. Let's try this again," Fang said, her near infinite well of patience trickling away bit by bit. "What do they call this?"

"Bandages."

A snort. "Funny. I meant _this_, sunshine." She indicated the air around her head – and could've sworn Lightning's hands twitched for the briefest second. Something definitely fishy there. "Not remembering anything? Feeling like you've been hit in the face by the Creator of all hangovers?"

"Hangover," Lightning said, not bothering to look up from the depth of her pouch. But at least she was moving on to her satchel.

"I would call it an 'accident', if I were you." The quotation marks enclosing the key word were not implied as much as overtly stated through the rare rise of tone in her voice. It was the verbal equivalent of bold typeface.

Yet another silence.

Right. Deep breath. Hassling her wasn't going anywhere. She would have to try another tactic to pry information out of her pretty mouth. But it seemed like she had taken too long in deciding her tactics, because something black, long and ugly entered her peripheral vision.

"Eat this."

And Fang found herself looking down at a skewered black remains of... something.

That was the moment that she realised Lightning was beyond terrible in fabricating the truth. So terrible it took every single fibre of her willpower to give her a crash course in lying there and then.

"Trying to change the topic, Light?"

"No. You need to eat." The skewer moved back and forth in the air, as if a vibrating black stick could possibly entice Fang to put it in her mouth.

"It's burnt."

"Slightly charred. Hope dropped it into the fire."

She stared at her. "I don't know if _you_ like to eat charcoals, Light, but I definitely don't."

"Fang. Quit being so stubborn."

"Think that goes for the both of us."

With a sigh, Lightning retracted the skewer and went back to her leather satchel, retrieving something in an opaque contained. She held it up for Fang's inspection, colourful jelly swishing around in it. "Last night's flan pudding. Although I should warn you that-"

Without further ado, Fang snatched it and downed the contents within a few gulps. Damned she was starving. Not starving enough to eat barbequed rocks, but Snow's pudding? Definitely.

She stopped short of the last mouthful and looked at Lightning staring intently at her. Akin to how she stared at a monster before going forth to slaughter it with fancy flips. "...what?"

"You don't... feel anything?"

"Anything?"

"A sudden jolt in the stomach. Heart palpitations."

And she was the one with a bandaged head?

"Hold still. Let me just check your temperature..."

Scoffing, Lightning batted her hand away and started collecting the scattered items to be replaced back into her satchel. "Obviously you don't. Never mind."

"Right. But heart palpitations and jolting stomach? I gotta say Light..."

"...yes?"

"It just looks like the pre-emptive of a very bad case of diarrhoea to me." Seeing Lightning's resulting death glare, Fang's faulty survival instincts only made her laugh. "Not that your look's helping much. Difficulty holding it in?"

Lightning spared her a glance, then resumed stuffing her satchel back to the brim. "I liked you better when you were comatose."

"Why?" Fang's grin became wider. "Because I was such a fragile little flower who you could do whatever you please to? In fact," and she sidled closer towards Lightning, placing a hand at her shoulder and leaning close to her ear, "how can I be sure you didn't follow your fantasies and take advantage of my body? What a perv- _damnit Light!_"

Once again, she found herself sharing a loving embrace with the ground. This time after having her shoulder twisted and body slammed down. If this is how Lightning treats wounded comrades, no wonder every time she switched to medic in fights, one or three of them would end up having parts of their bodies as monster play toy.

"Sorry," Lightning said. "Reflex."

For the second time of the night she unpeeled herself from the ground and sat up, groaning.

She looked at Lightning to see her nonchalantly tying her satchel close. Frighteningly nonchalant for such a violent woman.

"Y'know Light, if I didn't know better I would've thought you were trying me to give me a second bout of amnesia just so I'd shut up." Perhaps permanent amnesia, if Lightning could have her say in that matter.

"You're right about the shutting up part."

"I'm sure you do." But if Lightning thought a nearly dislocated shoulder won't deter her from finding out the truth, she was very, very wrong.

"By the way," Fang prefaced, "y'know you could've just used cure, right."

"I'd rather not re-arrange your face."

"...that makes sense."

Lightning was never a prolific medic, after all. Not even close. Everyone had testified to that multiple times.

But then Fang smirked and looked straight into Lightning's eyes. "But you know that you could've just asked Vanille for help, right?"

Lightning never wavered from the eye contact, but she remained silent. Just one more push, now.

"Or H—"

"He's still a _child!_" Lightning snapped before Fang could even utter half of the kid's name, her voice so scandalled it was if Fang pinned down and molested a child or something.

Strong reaction, there.

"A-ll _righty_ sunshine. Careful with the gunblade. Wouldn't wanna re-arrange my face for real after all your effort do we?"

For a moment, Lightning did nothing but maintain their smouldering eye contact. Then she looked away and folded her weapon back into the sheath. "Sorry," she said. "Reflex."

And Fang wondered if said 'reflexes' also had something to do with her amnesia.

"Right. Never doubted you for a moment, sunshine." She rose and stretched, rotating her neck until she was satisfied with the audible _cracks _the motion elicited. Then she spared one last glance at Lightning and smirked. "Well then. Guess I'll have to find the answer on my own, eh?"

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for Fang to figure out her next course of action. Whatever had knocked the memory off her for so and so hours, Fang knew she could depend on Vanille to give the answer. Known her for 519 years, after all — and kid's never let her down all that time. Either way, she'd make her spill.<p>

So first stop: Vanille.

As she came closer to their camp site, bits and pieces of conversation became audible, and she could identify Vanille's voice against the crackle of fire, talking to Hope.

"Found ya, kiddo," she said under her breath, ducking through a low branch and was about to swipe an obstructing vine away when she heard a 'kwew!' before something round and yellow floated down her vision.

Sazh's chocobo chick.

Fang grinned and cupped her hands together. "Hi there, cheeky bugger," she said when it had perched neatly on her palm. "Alone are you? Where's your old man?"

"He— here," came a choked, high-pitched voice.

Appearing from behind her, he stepped out of nowhere like a ghost. If ghosts hyperventilate and sound like a pre-puberty Vanille. Not that her voiced changed much, honestly. Besides the increased intensity in moaning.

Huffing and puffing, he bent over and supported himself with both hands on his knees. He raised one hand and greeted her, "h— hey there—" gasp wheeze "—Fang. Didn't know you're—" more wheezing "oh for Etro's sake!" Apparently giving up in coherently stringing a few words together, he plopped down into a sitting position, and then lied on the ground with his limbs spread. His loud hyperventilation continued.

Well, isn't today just strange.

Correctly translating his outstretched, fumbling hand, Fang knelt besides and took the water canteen strapped to his belt. She handed him the canteen as watched as he spluttered through the content. "Poked a king behemoth again?"

"T— thanks," said Sazh after he emptied the canteen. Then sat up and wiped his mouth on his sleeves. "That was Snow who poked that infernal thing. I'm getting too old for that. And this. Sheesh." A moment of cooling down, he ran his palm down his face and looked at Fang. "And uh— what... are you doing... here?"

What is wrong with the ragtag l'Cies today? Was she _really _the one with encased in bandages?

"I think that's more my question. Here." She extended her hand towards him.

No response besides heavy breathing.

Fang wiggled her fingers. Sazh strained his lungs.

More finger wiggling ensued before she deemed him beyond saving.

"Great," she said. "I'm gonna go find Vani—"

"W— wait!"

Something snagged her sari, and she turned around to see Sazh holding to it with both hands, still on his knees. What world in the Creator's backside did she wake up in? It seemed like everyone just went dumb.

Maybe it was the heat. It _was_ humid.

"Kwew!" the chocobo went, going back into its cosy nest inside his hair.

"Well. 'least your chick's still got his head on his shoulders." She snagged her sari away and effortlessly hoisted him up by the arms. Once eye-to-eye (or tilting slightly up, in her case), she grabbed him by the shoulders. Sazh's gaze started to wander, but before it could go far she palmed his cheek and tilted it back to its proper place. This manhandling thing was definitely Lightning's bad influence. "A-a! Look at me, now. What's today about and everyone trying to block me from getting to Vanille and Hope, hmm? Anything to do with this," and she pointed at her head, "little 'accident' I have?"

Sazh glanced around nervously. "Ah..."

"Come on Sazh. I know you could do better than this."

"Me? Do better than this?" His rising pitch and defensive gesture with palms outward already marked him as another terrible liar; though still not quite as bad as Lightning. "Really? I don't know anything—"

Fang diverted her hands to his collar and shook him for a bit. Her near infinite well of patience were— well, not nearly so infinite anymore. In fact, an optimistic guess would put it around sixty two percent full.

"Whoa— okay! _Okay!_" Great. Nice and loose, now. She shook him again. Lighthing was _definitely _a bad influence. Not that she didn't find it quite fun. "Damnit woman— easy with the strength! Next thing I know you'd pin me down like you did with Va—"

Realising his slip, Sazh abruptly stopped.

"...nille?" Fang finished helpfully, releasing her grip and giving him a lopsided smile which seemed to just cow him further.

And Sazh, Sazh stared at her wide-eyed and wordlessly. Finally he said very cautiously: "...how did you know?"

Aha. So she _did _do something to Vanille. One problem solved. Next is to find out exactly what.

"Guess work. But apart from your slip? Her body language."

"Her?"

"Light's."

"Her body language? What? Miss little sunshine there has another body language besides one-hitting Snow and burying people six feet under with her scowl?"

"If you look really, _really_ hard and use your imagination for a bit."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"But," Sazh said still with his palms outstretched — and she noticed he began inching further away, centimetre by centimetre. Figuring he was about to do the predictable thing and bolt, Fang did subtly tensed her legs, outwardly appearing perfectly still.

"Look, Fang—" another centimetre "—I just think that you should just forget about today and live your live like nothing's happened. Uh-huh." He nodded. "That's definitely for the best."

"And why is that, hmm?"

"Because..."

If he so much as move more than a tiny shuffle per second, Fang was ready.

"Because..."

"Hmm?"

Then, with a jolt he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted very, very loudly: "_SNOW! SHE'S HERE! TAKE THEM AWAY TO SAFETY!"_

"What in Etro's blazing—"

Then she heard the boom of Snow's voice: "run— _RUN!_ She's here! _SHE'S HERE!_ Everyone, gear up and get to higher grounds! Now!" Followed by Vanille's squeal, Hope's womanly grunt and what sounded like an oversized bear kidnapping two children and stomping away as fast as it could.

Really, now? They all acted like she did something indecent towards Vanille and/or Hope during her blackout. Better not be the latter. Otherwise she might as well go to Lightning and call her 'pinky'. At least that would be more merciful. She shivered at the mere image of her doing anything to Hope other than chucking him into a nest of gorgonopsids to erase his... feminine tendencies.

Vanille however... well. She didn't mind _that _that much. Not at all, actually. She grinned at the images already running rampant in her mind. Just one more reason to find her. If she found her, first thing she'd do was to

"Kwew!"

The chick fluttered down onto her head and gripped a bundle of her hair tightly, perching on it. She didn't need to turn around to know that Sazh had probably already sprinted to the other side of the plains.

Though not quite fond of having a chocobo making a nest out of her hair, she decided it would be better to let it hang around. The chick would be an ideal ransom. If only she could catch Sazh.

But first thing's first. Snow. She still remembered that sudden urge she had to do very fun things to his face, after all. He must be a key player in whatever happened during her amnesia. And finding him meant finding Vanille and Hope, too. Three birds with one stone.

She looked up and saw a blurry yellow blob staring at her. "Your pet's left you behind, eh? Don't worry, we'll get him and roast him over open fire."

"Kwew!"

And now.

The Quest for the Truth had started.

She leapt off towards the direction of Snow's heavy stomping with a smile. It was going to be a fun day.

**Continued.**

* * *

><p><em>And here I am, back in existence. Terribly sorry for the lack of update for... more than half a year? Jolly gosh! I'll make up for it. Maybe. Just need my inspiration back. Seriously. Well, anyway, I know this isn't a LOL rollercoaster chapter, but hey, it's building up Fang. The next chapter will be back on track with it's crackiness, I'm sure ;)<em>

_(Again; maybe.)_


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